HERE is the first time I saw them:<br > 1956.<br > Their home in Beverly Hills.<br > For years I ve known about them， dreamed of them，<br >clipped articles about them， wanted to meet them.<br > Now I park my father s car on the road outside the<br >high bordering bushes and walk up the driveway， ex-<br >pecting to be stopped by a guard or a housekeeper or a<br >dog. But the place is silent. The house is one of those<br >standard white-stucco jobs with red tile roof， small for<br >the area but set beautifully into the hillside. Lovely<br >winding paths lead away from the building， one of them，<br >presumably， to the pool I know is there.<br > I feel weak. I haven t eaten all day; my mouth is full<br >of my heart. I can t breathe， either; oxygen must be<br >seeping in through my ears and other small places.<br > Still no sound.<br > I walk to the front door but instead of using the bell<br >or the knocker I rap lightly with my knuckles and caU<br >hello in a soft voice. Nothing. I walk around the house<br >to where the ground slopes down toward the facing hills.<br >In the distance the sun is setting rose and gold. Closer<br >to me， just down the slope and past some bushes， I can<br >see a round section of what I would swear was a pond<br >had I not known that a pond was virtually impossible<br >in this high， dry area. As I walk down the path the<br > pond illusion diminishes although it s obvious that the<br > illusion was planned. I can see cement sides on the per-<br >fect circle but bushes are planted unusually close to the<br > 1<br ><br >